Jemma
by msdevindanielle
Summary: When Jemma Simmons takes it upon herself to be the town matchmaker, she finds her world turned upside down. Alongside her family and friends - from her oldest and dearest friend, Mr. Fitz, to the newest arrival in town, Miss Johnson - Jemma navigates the rough waters of courtship, parties, and meddling in affairs she probably shouldn't. A FitzSimmons AU based on Emma by Jane Austen
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : This was written for The FitzSimmons Network's Romantic Comedy AU challenge.

* * *

Jemma Simmons, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings in existence; and had lived nearly twenty-five years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.

That was all bound to change, of course, the day that her governess married.

As the only child of a most affectionate, indulgent father, a scientist well known throughout the large and populous village of Sheffield – and even in quite a few academic circles throughout England - Jemma had been mistress of his house from a very early age. Her mother had died too long ago for her to have more than a small remembrance of her, and Jemma's upbringing had been provided by an excellent woman as governess. And despite the fact that her governess was not prone to show outward displays of affection, Jemma knew in her heart that Miss May loved her as if she would love her own daughter.

In fact, Jemma had grown so close to Miss May over the years that she considered her to be more of a dear friend than a governess.

"One of the most beautiful things in the world is a match well made," Jemma announced to the small circle gathered around her, feebly attempting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill out. "And a happy marriage to you both."

Miss May gently took the miniature globe from Jemma's hands, the beginnings of a smile on her lips. Upon the decoration were painted many of the people in Sheffield that had played an important part in their lives, including a drawing of the Simmons's estate of Redmire. Jemma had spent the better part of a week working on it in her spare time, in between dinner parties and her experiments, but she couldn't have said it'd been difficult. The difficult part was finding the strength to give the gift to Miss May, knowing that it meant goodbye.

But Miss May barely even glanced at the little world, choosing instead to grasp onto Jemma's hand. "Thank you, Jemma," she said quietly, with more emotion in her voice than Jemma had ever heard. Jemma nearly burst into tears right then and there.

Thankfully, Miss May released Jemma's hand and addressed her a bit more loudly, most likely for the benefit of the crowd around them than for any other reason. "Your painting grows more accomplished every day," she told her, finally inspecting the gift closely.

Jemma laughed, glad to be rid of a little tension. "You are very kind," she replied with a smirk that rivaled that of Miss May. "But it would be all the better if I had practiced my drawing more, as you urged me."

"We both know where your interests truly resided," said Miss May, but Jemma was fairly certain no one else had heard her.

"I should never take sides against you, Miss Simmons, but your friend is right. It is indeed a job well done."

Jemma spun around to see Mr. Milton, the village vicar, hovering near her with a drink in his hand. She was somewhat startled by his close proximity, but she managed to give him a smile as she took a miniscule step backward.

"The job well done, Mr. Milton, was yours in performing the ceremony," she offered him graciously.

Mr. Milton appeared a bit flustered by her comment, the tips of his ears turning red as he nodded to her in thanks. Jemma felt the spark of an idea weave its way through her mind, particularly as she watched him wander over to the refreshment area to stand by himself, but she filed the thought away to be dealt with at a later time.

Now that the crowd was dispersing throughout the wedding reception, Jemma and Miss May were free to speak more openly.

"We'll still be able to train, won't we?" Jemma asked, mortified at how high her voice sounded. She cringed and closed her eyes. "I'm so sorry. This is your wedding day. I shouldn't have –"

"Jemma," Miss May interrupted her softly. Jemma cautiously opened her eyes, only to see Miss May looking at her with loving amusement. "I'm not leaving the country. I'll barely be a half mile away."

Jemma sighed, casting her eyes down to stare at her clasped fingertips. "Yes, of course. I know that."

"As for your training," Miss May continued, surprising Jemma by gently placing her hands within her own. "You've done very well, Jemma. I don't believe there's anything more that I can teach you."

Jemma hardly thought it was likely that she'd learned all of what Miss May had to teach her. After all, it was uncommon for a young woman to train in the art of self-defense; so uncommon, in fact, that only one other person was aware of their arrangement, and he actually _was_ out of the country. Not even Mr. Simmons knew of Jemma's early-morning exercises, as she and Miss May had trained before dawn, hours before it'd been time for Jemma's official morning lessons.

"Oh." Jemma felt a tremor in her chin and hated herself for it. She forced her lips into a tight smile, clearing her throat. "Well, I have to take father home now. I think he's starting to bother some of the guests with his talk of the physiology of digestion. He just received a book on gastric juices and will not stop talking about it. It _is_ quite fascinating, of course, but –" Jemma's voice faltered as she glanced at Miss May and realized she'd been rambling. "But you'll still visit?" she asked softly.

"Of course."

And then Miss May did something that, in her entire life, Jemma could only remember having happened twice. She wrapped her arms around Jemma in a hug.

The moment passed quickly, but Jemma knew she would treasure it for years to come. "Dear Miss May," she began, before stopping herself. "Oh, no! You are dear Miss May no more. You are dear Mrs. Garner now!"

Mrs. Garner smiled, a rare and beautiful sight. She hesitated before speaking, almost as if she were trying to find the right parting words for the occasion.

"Have courage, Jemma," she said simply, lightly pressing Jemma's fingers again before walking off to join her husband. Jemma was left standing in the center of the party, alone with her thoughts and wondering what Mrs. Garner could have possibly meant.

* * *

It was on the eve of the wedding that Jemma truly began to feel the absence of her former governess. Jemma sat in the drawing room with her father, as she always did, reading a recent publication from the Royal Astronomical Society. She might have been able to forget the emptiness of the room, so engrossing was her chosen material, had it not been for her father's periodic comments.

"Poor Miss May," he sighed. "I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Garner ever thought of her!"

Jemma glanced up from her papers. "Oh, father, you can't truly mean that," she said. "You know as well as I do how reserved Miss May is, and how long she's had to bear all of my odd humors. You would not have her live with us for ever, would you, when she might find happiness elsewhere?"

Mr. Simmons seemed to consider her words for a moment, and when he responded Jemma knew that despite her sense he was reluctant to let the matter settle. "Was she not happy here, with us?"

Jemma reached over to grasp her father's hand, desperately trying to keep the tears out of her voice. After the death of her mother so long ago, Miss May had become a fixture in their family, for Jemma as well as for Mr. Simmons. "Of course, father," she assured him, giving his hand a small squeeze. "She's only gone to further her happiness in another regard; you know Miss May has always wanted children. And Mr. Garner is such a good-humored, pleasant, excellent man. He'll be sure to treat Miss May with the kindness and respect she deserves."

Her father found the strength to smile, though it held sadness. "I still say poor Miss May. Why should she need a child of her own when she has you?"

Jemma laughed at her father's stubbornness, a trait she had undoubtedly inherited as well. "You are aware that I am grown now, aren't you, father?"

"I believe that still remains to be seen." A visitor appeared in the doorway, removing his hat as he entered the room. He took note of Jemma's slightly annoyed expression and broke into a grin. "As an old friend of the family, I had to ask as soon as I got back. Did anything wildly amusing happen at the wedding?"

"Perhaps if you had been in attendance, Mr. Fitz, you might have discovered that answer yourself," Jemma replied, only partly joking. She knew that he had just returned from Glasgow, where he had been visiting his ill mother.

He took her teasing in stride, though, for as long as the pair had known each other, they'd had a very close relationship and spoke with a familiarity that Jemma didn't even share with Miss May.

"And have to sit through another stimulating sermon from Mr. Milton?"

"It was a bit dry, I will admit," said Jemma. "Though it hardly mattered since everyone was so happy to see the marriage."

Mr. Fitz nodded to himself, the air of teasing leaving his expression. "You know I'm not one for parties, Jemma," he told her, his accent emphasizing his Scottish origin. "But I truly am sorry to have missed it."

"I know, Mr. Fitz," she said. His eyes met hers, and she knew that he would lament the loss almost as much as she did. Miss May was a dear friend to them both. "And how is your mother?"

Mr. Fitz smiled and took a seat on the sofa across from Jemma. "Much better, thank you. By the time I departed, she was well enough to scold me for the unruly appearance of my hair."

"It is getting a bit long," Jemma admitted. "And those curls –"

"Are you to mock my curls now?" Mr. Fitz asked with feigned offense. "I'll have you know that many a person would find me ruggedly handsome –"

Jemma let out a laugh. "I would never deign to do those curls such a disservice. You would hardly be the same Mr. Fitz without them."

The two of them fell into an easy conversation, and Mr. Fitz's eyes widened as his gaze fell upon the papers in front of Jemma. "Is that the new publication?" he asked in excitement. "The one with the proposals of Charles Babbage?"

"It is indeed," Jemma grinned as she handed the sheets to him. "It's quite a fascinating concept, really, with the idea of –"

"A difference engine," Mr. Fitz finished for her, a frequent habit of the both of them when in each other's company. "Theoretically it should be designed to tabulate polynomial functions, which could be applied to –"

"Numerous applications, to be sure. And I hardly need to mention the sheer amount of time it will save in the creation of mathematical and astronomical tables!"

"You always did love the stars," Mr. Simmons said wistfully, looking up from his own book. "Ever since you were a young girl."

"I still do, father," Jemma replied. "And with these new advancements, we're bound to learn more about them every day." She looked out the drawing room window, where the setting sun was giving the landscape enough darkness for the stars above to shine. "Some day we may even find something magnificent out there in space."

When she glanced back at Mr. Fitz, she was surprised to see him looking at her with something close to fondness. "Oh, who needs space?" he asked with a smile. "I have something magnificent right here."

Jemma found herself smiling as well, despite the fact that he was hardly being serious. Sure enough, Mr. Fitz gestured towards the publication in front of him.

"Charles Babbage," he finished, and Jemma could hear the amusement in his voice. "The man is a genius, by all accounts. I shall seek him out and buy him a drink."

The three of them continued to chatter away through the evening, inquiring about Mr. Fitz's travels, discussing the latest scientific discoveries (Mr. Fitz turned a bit green when Mr. Simmons and Jemma began talking of gastric endoscopies), and briefly touching on some of the more recent Sheffield gossip.

"No doubt you've already heard of the new arrivals in town," Mr. Fitz said dismissively as he poured them each a cup of tea. "A milliner and his daughter, I believe?"

"Really?" Jemma asked in surprise, nearly missing her cup as she added a splash of milk. "I haven't heard anything of the sort." She set down the small jar. "How is it that you've been away and still learned of this before I did?"

Mr. Fitz shrugged, but Jemma could tell he felt a bit smug to have one morsel of information that she did not. "You were probably preoccupied with the wedding. It must have been very exciting."

Jemma fought the urge to roll her eyes again. "Well?" she prompted. "Have you names for these new arrivals?"

"I was getting to that part," Mr. Fitz replied in mild annoyance. Jemma bit her tongue as he nearly emptied the small sugar bowl into his teacup. "A Mr. Coulson and a Miss Johnson, from what I gather. Mr. Coulson is to open his millinery shop next to the tailor's. Although I've also heard that for a hat-maker, hats don't really suit him very well."

"Mr. Coulson, you say?" Mr. Simmons asked, perking up slightly in his armchair. "Why, I believe he's an old friend of Miss May, isn't he?"

"Yes, I've heard her mention his name before," Jemma murmured. She felt her brow wrinkle in confusion, something not quite making sense. "Do Mr. Coulson and his daughter not share the same family name?"

Mr. Fitz shook his head, setting his spoon carefully down on the saucer. "She's his adopted daughter. Miss Johnson's family history is, as far as I'm aware, largely unknown, although her parents left her in the care of the Coulsons. As Mr. Coulson had no children of his own, the arrangement suited the both of them."

The thoughts in Jemma's mind were swirling at great speed, but with a gasp she realized what Mr. Fitz had implied. "The pair probably came to Sheffield as a way to bring Miss Johnson into society! Is she of the right age?"

Mr. Fitz shifted his gaze, appearing to mentally calculate something. "I…suppose she's around two- or three-and-twenty? I don't know; you've always been better at estimating that sort of thing."

Jemma could barely contain her surprised excitement. "You've seen her?"

"Yes," Mr. Fitz said, looking somewhat alarmed by her enthusiasm. "Did I not mention that?"

"No. You did not."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Well…what, exactly?"

"How is she?"

"Er…" Mr. Fitz began, losing a bit of his composure. "Well, I didn't speak to her or anything, Jemma. I mainly just saw her in passing. But I suppose she's…got a pleasant-enough countenance." He eyed her warily as he spoke, as if he weren't sure what answer she was expecting.

At a skeptical glance from Jemma, Mr. Fitz corrected himself. "She's very…pretty."

Jemma stared at Mr. Fitz for a moment. He rarely gave his opinion on anyone's physical appearance, and when he did it was often not for the person's benefit. "Pretty?" she repeated.

"Beautiful, I'm sure many would say. And from what I gather, she's quite smart too, if a bit unrestrained in her manner."

"I must say, Mr. Fitz, I'm now very intrigued."

"Oh, come now, Jemma," Mr. Fitz pleaded, obviously displeased with the direction the conversation had taken. "You know as well as I do how a person's outward appearance can be deceiving."

"Most certainly," Jemma agreed, softening her gaze. Mr. Fitz's (and, indeed, her own) skill in the sciences was often underestimated due to his young age. "I'm only teasing you, Mr. Fitz."

He returned her smile. "I know, Jemma," he said softly, before the two of them turned slightly – as if drawn by the same thought – to look at the framed document hanging above the pianoforte. The yellowed paper was already quite faded, but printed near the center of the page, underneath the title of their study and "Oxford University Press," read a name as familiar to Jemma as her own.

When Mr. Fitz had moved to Sheffield nearly ten years ago, Carter Abbey – the largest and most prosperous estate in the area, even grander than Redmire – had remained largely uninhabited. Mr. Fitz had inherited the estate at the age of sixteen from his late father, despite the fact that he'd been absent for most of Mr. Fitz's life, and his social standing had profited considerably.

As a landowner and gentleman, Mr. Fitz didn't need to work, although his education and affinity for the sciences kept him in contact with the University of Glasgow. He often used this connection as an excuse to regularly visit his sickly mother, who was frequently unable to make the trip to Sheffield. From their many long conversations, Jemma knew that Mr. Fitz had initially abhorred the thought of leaving Glasgow and accepting an inheritance that he neither wanted nor cared for. But at the insistence of Mrs. Fitz, who undoubtedly wanted her son to prosper and pursue his passions (and find a wife), he had relented and made the transition, soon landing an apprenticeship with Mr. Simmons. It was through this connection that he'd first met Jemma.

Jemma often found herself amused by how strange their first encounters had been. Mr. Fitz, a quiet young gentleman not much older than herself (twenty-three days, to be exact), had barely said a word to her for the first few months of his apprenticeship, sometimes even going so far as to ignore her outright. It had been extremely frustrating for Jemma, since she too loved to learn in the laboratory with her father, but she took the opportunity to challenge him, often outsmarting him in doing so. Despite his initial hatred of her, the two of them had become fast friends soon afterwards. But to this day they always kept a bit of rivalry between them.

It wasn't long before the two of them surpassed Mr. Simmons in their knowledge of the ever-evolving sciences, to the point where they now worked in the comfort of their own private laboratory at Redmire. Mr. Fitz, often consulted by local universities, found that he and Jemma worked marvelously together, and always insisted they work together when conducting studies. In fact, when he published their first paper, he'd written "Fitz, Simmons" at the top of the page, only to find that in the official publication, which now adorned her drawing room wall, the two of them had been credited as "L. Fitzsimmons."

Mr. Fitz had immediately drafted a letter to the university in the hopes of correcting the error, but Jemma had stopped him. She knew that women were rarely – if ever – published, least of all in the sciences. So instead of going through the arduous process of fixing the mistake, knowing it probably wouldn't come to fruition and might have even discredited Mr. Fitz in the future, Jemma thought it fitting to use the new moniker as a pseudonym instead. It was an arrangement that suited them both, and Jemma actually quite liked the name too.

Jemma looked away from that first document and met Mr. Fitz's gaze. Perhaps it was the warmth of the tea in her hands, or perhaps it was the brilliant night sky outside of the window, or perhaps it was simply the memory of their long partnership. But Jemma thought to herself that at that moment, she was really very glad that Mr. Fitz was home.

Mr. Simmons sighed again, closing his book. "Poor Miss May. I suppose she's probably missing Redmire very much right now."

It was subtle, but Jemma heard Mr. Fitz choke slightly on his tea. "I'm sure she's just fine, sir," he said, sharing a smirk with Jemma. "And you shouldn't be too hard on her. It must be easier for her to have only one to please than two."

"Especially when one of those two is such a troublesome creature," Jemma replied, knowing Mr. Fitz would appreciate the humor.

But Mr. Simmons's spirits didn't seem to improve. "Yes, I am," he said sadly. "Most troublesome."

Jemma's eyes widened. "Dear father, I could never mean _you_!" she assured him. "I meant only myself. Mr. Fitz loves to find fault with me, you know. It's his idea of a joke."

"I _am_ practically a brother to you, Jemma. Is it not a brother's job to find fault with his sister?"

Mr. Fitz was, in fact, one of the few people who could see faults in Jemma Simmons, and the only one who ever told her of them. And though this was not particularly agreeable to Jemma herself, she knew it would be much less so to her father, who couldn't fathom her not being thought perfect by everybody.

Despite this, Mr. Fitz's statement caught Jemma by surprise, although she hadn't the faintest idea why.

"In any case, Jemma knows I never flatter her," Mr. Fitz smiled, and Jemma momentarily forgot his previous declaration. "I simply meant Miss May will only have to look after Mr. Garner now, although something tells me that as pleasant as he is, she'll have her hands full with that one."

"Oh, hush," Jemma scolded him. "Mr. Garner is a perfectly agreeable match for Miss May, and you know that very well. After all, it was a match I made myself."

Mr. Fitz shook his head at her, but Jemma was relentless.

"You can't deny my part in the arrangement. It was plain to see from the very start how suited they were for each other. Miss May rarely smiles, and Mr. Garner makes her laugh! And have you seen the way he looks at her?"

"I do have a pair of eyes, Jemma," Fitz said briskly. "Of course I've seen it. But that's not to say I'm going to claim that I'm the reason Miss May is now married."

"That was just the _start_ , though, Mr. Fitz," Jemma continued, adamant that he understand her reasoning. "I saw the initial attraction and knew that if perhaps they just spent some more time together, I could help ignite the spark between them, so to speak. People said Miss May would never marry, and what a success I've had!"

"Success!" Mr. Fitz exclaimed. "You made a lucky guess."

"It was an educated hypothesis based on my observations of the pair," Jemma said in a self-satisfied voice, knowing she had the upper hand. "Besides, have you never known a triumph from a lucky guess? Had I not promoted Mr. Garner's visits, and given encouragement where encouragement was needed, we might not have had a wedding today." Jemma took a sip from her tea. "It was just like one of our experiments in the laboratory."

"Then please, my dear," her father interjected, "keep your experiments _in_ the laboratory. We can't have you marrying off everyone in our social circle."

"Just one more, father," Jemma replied with an air of mischief. "When I saw Mr. Milton at the ceremony today, he seemed awfully lonely. I must do him the same kindness I did Mr. Garner and find him a wife."

Mr. Fitz sighed heavily. "Invite the man over for dinner, Jemma. That is kindness enough. I'm sure Mr. Milton can take care of himself."

Jemma laughed. "Men can hardly be trusted to take care of themselves, Mr. Fitz. You should know that better than anyone." There was a comfortable silence, and then Jemma gasped. "Oh! Do you think the new Miss Johnson might take a liking to him?"

Mr. Fitz reached over to pour himself some more tea, looking like he wished for something a bit stronger in his cup. "Poor Miss May indeed," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's Mr. Milton and Miss Johnson that deserve our pity."


	2. Chapter 2

With Jemma's social standing in Sheffield, it took her very little effort to seek out the beautiful, mysterious Miss Johnson and invite her to dinner. Skye Johnson – an unusual name, to be sure, although Jemma found herself liking it considerably – was the natural daughter of somebody. Jemma couldn't help but notice the girl's strikingly beautiful features and surmise that she was surely of genteel descent.

The two of them became friends faster than Jemma could have predicted, much to the surprise of their immediate social circle, including Mr. Fitz. And so Skye Johnson's intimacy at Redmire was soon a settled thing. Quick and decided in her ways, Jemma lost no time in inviting, encouraging, and telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased, so did their satisfaction in each other.

It was strange, Jemma thought. As known as she was throughout Sheffield, Jemma rarely found a companion - of the gentler sex or otherwise - with whom she could spend hours of the day, and then eagerly await the time when they could be reunited. Not since she had befriended Mr. Fitz had she enjoyed someone's company so much, which was odd given the fact that the two shared very few interests. Most days they spent in the laboratory, Skye peppering Jemma periodically with questions about what she was doing. Sometimes Jemma found it a challenge to explain in terms Skye could understand, but she did her best, often with the help of her partner. She also found that while Skye's education was woefully incomplete, her intelligence resided in other areas. (She was exceptionally good with a needle and thread, and seemed to always know which popular romance novels were in season.)

Perhaps above all this, Jemma valued the way Skye naturally integrated into life at Redmire, with both her father and her dearest friend in the world. She was secretly (or not-so-secretly) pleased that Skye had managed to find herself in Mr. Fitz's good graces, which was no simple feat. Mr. Fitz, while a perfect gentleman, often kept to himself.

It was a few weeks into their friendship when Jemma decided to broach the subject of her curiosity. "And what kind of people are your parents, Miss Johnson?" she asked as they made their way from town back to Redmire.

Skye lowered her gaze to the path. "I don't know," she admitted in a quiet voice. Jemma immediately regretted bringing up what were sure to be painful memories, but Skye gave her a smile. "I've always wondered who they were, why they left me in the care of someone else. I think Mr. Coulson knows the truth, but no matter how many times I ask him, he's never told me."

Jemma was about to reply when she caught glimpse of a wiry woman coming towards them. "Oh, goodness, we'd better hurry along," Jemma murmured to Skye, nudging the younger girl's elbow so that they were partially hidden by two vendors. "It's Miss Hutchins coming. As it is Tuesday, she will surely have a letter from her niece Barbara Morse, and she will want to read us every word about her."

Skye appeared to be equal parts confused and intrigued. "Oh, I have not heard of Barbara Morse!"

Jemma held in the long sigh she had at the ready. "There's not much to be said for her, really," she replied, even though Jemma hadn't actually been properly introduced to Miss Morse either. She opened her parasol, thereby obstructing her and Skye from view, just as Miss Hutchins passed them. "When pressed, I say she is elegant."

Later, whilst picking apples in an orchard near her estate, Jemma broached the other subject that had been on her mind. "Have you given any thought to the gentlemen of Sheffield?"

Skye nearly burst into laughter. "I assume you're asking if I intend to marry soon?"

" _No_ , of course not!" Jemma argued, but Skye gave her a look that told Jemma she knew the truth. "All right, I was only curious."

"It's perfectly fine, Miss Simmons," Skye assured her. "Honestly, I've only met a few people here in town so far. Besides you, Mr. Fitz, and Mr. Coulson, the only others I know here are the Tripletts over at Jones Farm. Did you know that they have eight cows? And Mr. Triplett cuts fresh flowers for the house every day."

Jemma smiled, placing a few apples in her basket. "How lucky for Mrs. Triplett to have such an agreeable husband."

Skye stopped in surprise. "Oh, Miss Simmons, Mr. Triplett is not her husband. He is her son!"

"Ah, I see," Jemma replied, unsure if she liked where the conversation was heading. "Then he is…unmarried?"

"Yes, but I don't really understand why," Skye said. "He's very charming, and kind as well. When he discovered I liked those little candies at the grocer's, he went out of his way to get them for me, even though he says they're dreadful for my health."

"That was kind of him."

"Exactly!" Skye exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to Jemma's hesitancy. She spun around with a bright smile. "Do you know the Tripletts?"

Jemma chose her words carefully. "I know _of_ the Tripletts, to be sure, though I can't say I've been properly acquainted. As they are farmers, I've never really had cause to. Those families don't tend to frequent dinner parties, and I can hardly be of any use to them."

Skye seemed puzzled. "Is Sheffield not farming country?"

Before Jemma could reply, Skye let out a small gasp. "Miss Simmons! There he is now, just up the road!" She turned to Jemma and tried to unsuccessfully pin back a loose curl. It stubbornly remained framing the left side her face. "How do I look?"

"You look just fine, Skye," Jemma said uncertainly, wondering why Skye would fuss over her appearance for a farmer. (Skye actually looked stunningly gorgeous, with the sunlight glinting off of her dark hair and her lavender dress accentuating her features and her cheeks rosy from being outside all day. But Jemma didn't think Skye needed such encouragement at the moment.) "Good enough, I'm sure, for Mr. Triplett."

"Good day, Miss Johnson," Mr. Triplett greeted them with a wide grin. His smile was so bright and infectious that Jemma found her lips starting to curl upwards as well. "What is the chance that I would happen upon you on my way home from town?"

Jemma knew very well that Jones Farm was exactly two miles due west of their location, decidedly _not_ on the way from town, but she kept her knowledge to herself.

"Good day, Mr. Triplett," Skye replied, her smile stretching from ear to ear. She paused for a moment before she seemed to remember the other person in their vicinity. "Miss Simmons, may I present Mr. Triplett?" She gestured towards Jemma. "This is Miss Simmons."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Simmons."

Despite her misgivings, Jemma's answer was genuine. "Likewise."

"I thought you said that you didn't eat any unhealthy foods."

Jemma just now realized that Mr. Triplett was holding a paper bag, from which he was eating a piece of chocolate. In his other hand was a small bouquet of daisies. He laughed as he closed the top of the bag. "I had the day to myself, so I thought I might find something with which to celebrate." Mr. Triplett held out the bag and the bouquet. "Forgive me for taking one or two. But they are actually for you."

The rosy color in Skye's cheeks deepened as she hesitantly accepted the gifts. "Mr. Triplett, I hardly know what to say," she smiled. "Thank you very much."

"It was nothing," Mr. Triplett shrugged, the very picture of sincerity. "Would you like to guess what I intend to do with the rest of my short holiday?"

"Let me think," Skye said, resting a fingertip on her chin in a gesture of mock contemplation. "Only exercising for one hour instead of three?"

Mr. Triplett laughed, another infectious display. "A worthy guess, but incorrect. No, I've finally managed to find a copy of _The Romance of the Forest_."

"Oh, did you really?" Skye asked in excitement. "You will thoroughly enjoy reading it, I promise, and I believe you might be able to solve the mystery before you reach the ending."

"Will you at least give me a hint?"

"Well, I don't want to give the entire book away, Mr. Triplett," Skye admonished him. "But I will say that the story centers around a girl with mysterious origins –" She stopped talking abruptly, looking around the path for something. "Oh, no…I think I left my basket in the last row." She set the bag of chocolate and flowers next to Jemma's apple basket and hurried off down the row. "I'll just be a minute!"

There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence before Mr. Triplett spoke. "Have you known Miss Johnson for some time, Miss Simmons? She speaks very highly of you."

Jemma smiled, thankful that Mr. Triplett wasn't one to make situations awkward. "I can't say that I have, actually," she admitted. "We only just met a few weeks ago, and we have very little in common." The oddness of it all surprised Jemma. "We really couldn't be more different."

And it was true. The two girls were nearly polar opposites. Jemma had excelled in her studies, whereas Skye's education left more than a bit to be desired. Jemma abided strictly by the rules of society; Skye often deviated from what was considered proper. Sheffield had always been Jemma's home, a world in which she knew how things were run and how they should continue to run, but Skye had no idea where she'd truly come from. It was striking, the differences between them.

"But now you cannot imagine your life without her in it."

Jemma, whose gaze had gone unfocused in her thoughts, looked up at Mr. Triplett in shock. It'd been a simple statement, and yet spoke the truth she hadn't realized until that very moment.

"Yes," she whispered softly.

"Sometimes people can take you by surprise." Mr. Triplett was still smiling, although something in his eyes told Jemma that his words held a deeper meaning.

When Skye returned moments later, breathless and attempting to keep the apples from falling out of her basket, the three of them began heading towards the road, where they would branch off for their intended destinations. It only took a heartbeat for Skye and Mr. Triplett to fall into conversation once more, so Jemma let them walk a few paces ahead of her, all the while turning over the thoughts in her head.

Like Skye, Mr. Triplett had indeed taken her by surprise. In both manner and intelligence, he had more than surpassed the expectations she'd previously formed for someone of his station. And so Jemma watched the two of them with sadness, knowing that as happy as the pair were now in each other's company, their relationship would not – and could not – progress any further.

If only he had not been a farmer.

* * *

"Miss Simmons!"

Jemma looked up from the manuscript she was drafting – a report detailing a study she and Mr. Fitz were conducting on the properties of certain snake venoms – in a daze of confusion. The sun had only just risen high enough to stream through the curtains in the drawing room, yet Skye was already at the door, forgoing any sense of propriety by rapping the thick mahogany repeatedly.

"Miss Simmons!" she shouted again. Jemma quickly rose from the desk and hurried to open the door, afraid that something terrible had happened.

Skye tumbled into the hall as soon as Jemma had given her enough room to do so, speaking so quickly that Jemma could scarcely understand a word she was saying.

"- and I was just at breakfast like every normal morning except _this_ morning Mr. Coulson came in and said I'd gotten a letter in the post and I've _never_ received a letter, not even one, so you can imagine how exciting it was to open it and then it was _this_ kind of letter and –"

"Miss Johnson!" Jemma finally exclaimed. Skye closed her mouth abruptly and glanced over at Jemma, bits of hair coming out of place and her cheeks flushed from the exercise. The excitement she'd radiated just moments before seemed to deflate a bit as she realized how she must have appeared.

Jemma took a deep breath to stay calm. "What is all this about now?"

Skye nodded, as if to remind herself to remain intelligible. Her smile returned, more subdued now. "He wants to marry me."

Jemma was stunned. What on earth could she be talking about? Jemma had been waiting for the opportune moment to bring Mr. Milton up in conversation, but there hadn't been time after Mr. Triplett had happened upon them in the orchard…

It was then that Jemma realized to whom Skye was actually referring.

"Do you mean…" Jemma began, waiting for Skye to finish the thought for her.

Skye nodded, utterly beaming. "Mr. Triplett has asked me to marry him."

Jemma was thankful that Skye immediately handed her the letter in question, if nothing so that she could try to mask the discomfort that was surely written on her face. It took a few seconds for Jemma's eyes to focus, so distressed was she by the sudden turn of events, that she'd scarcely read a word before Skye was already asking for her opinion.

"What do you think?" Her voice was quiet, yet eager. "Is it a good letter, or…I don't know, is it too…short?"

"It is a good letter," Jemma murmured, quickly scanning the words. It was, in fact, an excellent letter, particularly from a farmer's hand. "He must have had someone help him, but the language is sufficient and his penmanship is quite remarkable, actually." She tore her gaze away from the paper and gently handed it back to Skye. "You should answer him immediately. It's best to give him his disappointment now, rather than make him wait any longer for it."

Skye's smile faded, her eyes traveling from the letter back to Jemma. "Then you think I should refuse him."

Jemma tried not to appear too shocked. "Did you plan to give him a favorable answer?"

"No…that is…um…" Skye stammered, her cheeks reddening for a different reason now. "Well, I mean, I suppose…not."

It was in that particular moment that Jemma became acutely aware of Skye's former isolation from society.

"Miss Johnson," Jemma started, before she decided the situation called for more familiarity. "Skye." Skye was staring at the letter in silence, but she glanced up when prompted, and allowed Jemma to take her hand. Jemma tried to ignore the tears Skye blinked away as she led her to a sofa.

"I know you've taken a liking to Mr. Triplett, Skye," Jemma prefaced. Skye stared dutifully at her lap. "And under different circumstances, I'm sure he would make a perfectly agreeable husband." She took a breath. "But unfortunately, as women, we have to be careful about whom we choose to marry. We must think about what would become of our place in society should we marry below our station."

Jemma squeezed Skye's fingertips, hoping she would understand. "I cannot tell you what to decide in this matter. Your choice is yours and yours alone – it would hardly be my place to intrude! If you prefer Mr. Triplett to every other person you know or may ever know, if you think him the most agreeable man you have ever been or ever will be in company with, if you believe in your heart that he can provide you and your future children with a good home and prosperous future, then why should you hesitate?" She paused before continuing.

"If, however, you are unsure in any aspect I've mentioned, then I urge you to think heavily on the matter before accepting. As your friend, that's all I can say."

Skye appeared to be on the verge of tears, but she nodded to herself as she carefully folded the letter.

"I just want you to be safe, Skye," Jemma murmured. "To live the life you've always dreamed of having. You know that, don't you?"

"I do," Skye replied, a small tremor in her voice. She managed to give Jemma a fleeting smile. "Thank you, Miss Simmons."

"Please, Skye," said Jemma as she reached over to fix one of Skye's stray curls. "I think you may call me Jemma now."

That seemed to cheer Skye up a bit.

"You know," Jemma said brightly as they headed to the dining room for tea. "You've only just arrived in Sheffield, so you probably aren't even aware of all the suitable gentlemen here. Heavens, you still haven't attended your first party! We will have to remedy that soon, but I hope you're not too disappointed today. My dear, your prospects are far from limited."

Skye politely nodded, but she remained quiet; Jemma decided that the moment was opportune enough.

"In fact," she announced, setting down her teacup as if she had just remembered. "Mr. Milton said something very kind about you the other day."

Skye glanced up from her cup, eyebrows raised. "The vicar?" she asked in confusion.

"To be sure! And as Mr. Milton is a gentleman, his opinion is not only well-respected, but also has a wide audience."

The way Skye was studying her face conveyed her skepticism, but Jemma was thankful that her curiosity overcame her hesitancy. "Can…you not tell me what it was?"

"Oh," Jemma scoffed. "It's not my place to intrude upon personal matters, Skye." And then, before Skye's interest could fade, "But as your friend, I could make an exception, if you wanted me to."

She smiled as Skye leaned in closer, as if to hear a secret.

"Well. I heard him say that…"

* * *

Jemma cursed as her arrow hit the far right of the target.

"Careful, now," Mr. Fitz teased. "Are those words that I should be hearing from a gentlewoman?"

"Oh please, Mr. Fitz," replied Jemma in exasperation as she nocked another arrow. It was a beautiful autumn day on the grounds of Redmire, and Mr. Fitz had brought his two dogs, Lincoln and Cosmo, to join Jemma in an afternoon of archery. "There's hardly anyone else around to hear me."

"Oh, I made sure of that," Mr. Fitz said solemnly, gesturing to the contraption she was holding. "When you have a bow and arrow, it's best to ensure there are no potential targets about."

"That is not fair, and you know it," Jemma protested. "I _am_ improving!" As if to prove her point, she released another arrow, this one landing a few inches closer to the middle.

Instead of acknowledging her superiority, Mr. Fitz simply withdrew and fired his own arrow. "If you say so," he smirked, his arrow lodged cleanly in the center of the target.

Jemma sighed before retaliating. "And when were we going to continue our swimming lessons, did you say?"

The smirk quickly disappeared. It was well known between the two of them how much Mr. Fitz detested swimming. "You just cannot stand to be inferior in any capacity, can you?"

She didn't answer his question, but retrieved another arrow with her own grin. "I thought so."

After Mr. Fitz had shaken his head at her stubbornness, they continued practicing in comfortable silence. When they'd collected their arrows for another round, Jemma spoke. "What do you think of Skye Johnson?"

Mr. Fitz paused, surprise flitting across his face. "Why do you ask?"

"I was simply wondering," Jemma shrugged. "She's become a new fixture at Redmire, and you've been gracious enough to her in the laboratory and at dinner. But I don't believe you've ever told me your opinion on the matter."

Mr. Fitz let loose another arrow before answering. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't think she and you would become such fast friends," he admitted. "But I've enjoyed her company, I suppose. And I think she's perfectly agreeable, even if…"

"She doesn't always understand what we're saying?" Jemma finished with a laugh.

"Yes. Exactly."

"Well, I'm glad," Jemma told him honestly. She didn't think she could be a close friend with someone of whom Mr. Fitz didn't have a high opinion. "I just hope you're not the only man to have noticed."

"I'm not," Mr. Fitz replied. Jemma was so surprised by his response that her hands slipped and dropped the arrow she'd been in the process of nocking. "I believe our friend will soon hear something to her advantage."

The bow and arrow long forgotten, Jemma turned to face Mr. Fitz. "Who makes you his confidant?" Mr. Fitz had very few friends she was not personally acquainted with, and none she could think of would be responsible for this piece of gossip.

Mr. Fitz's arrow hit the target center once more. "I have reason to believe Skye Johnson will receive an offer of marriage to a man desperately in love with her," he said, before noticing Jemma's confusion. "Antoine Triplett."

Jemma felt her stomach drop, and busied herself with nocking an arrow so as not to look at Mr. Fitz while he continued.

"He's a tenant of mine, you know, since Jones Farm is technically a part of my father's estate. But he's also a friend. He came to me at the Abbey a few evenings ago to ask my opinion – can you imagine? He wanted to know what I thought on the matter. Since you and I regard Miss Johnson so highly, I told him he could not do better."

"No, indeed, he could not," Jemma said with a tight smile. She lifted the bow to aim the next shot. "But you presume correctly. Mr. Triplett did write to Skye, but he was refused."

The arrow pierced the left side of the target this time. Jemma didn't look at Mr. Fitz.

"I'm…not sure I understand," he murmured quietly.

"He asked her to marry him; she refused."

A longer pause followed, and though she knew Mr. Fitz was staring at the side of her face, Jemma readied her next arrow.

"This makes no sense at all, Jemma."

"Oh, of course," Jemma scoffed. "Because the most incomprehensible thing in the world to a man is a woman who rejects his offer of marriage."

The arrow hit the bottom left corner of the target, glancing off the wood to land in the grass beneath it.

"No," Mr. Fitz argued. "I have plenty of reason to believe that Antoine Triplett's feelings for Skye Johnson were not unrequited. Whatever gossip you think you've heard is most likely false, Jemma."

"Nonsense. I saw her answer myself."

"You…saw her answer?"

Jemma hesitated, apparently giving Mr. Fitz the confirmation he'd needed.

"You _wrote_ her answer, didn't you, Jemma?" He inhaled sharply after seeing the guilt on her face. "Oh, by G –"

"And why, may I ask, was this so wrong of me to do?" Jemma's previous guilt had quickly transformed into stubborn pride. "He is not Skye's equal."

"How can you make such a claim?" Fitz asked angrily, stepping towards her. "What do you know of Skye Johnson's birth or education which make her higher than Antoine Triplett? She is the daughter of nobody-knows-who. The advantage of the match was entirely on her side."

"What?" Jemma exclaimed, nearly dropping her bow. "A farmer? She is a _gentleman's_ daughter –"

"Proven by no one –"

"With a status high enough to –"

"To adequately support your outrageous actions –"

"Promote a more suitable match."

Jemma could not bear to see the look on Mr. Fitz's face anymore, or confront the fact that it was there because of her, so she went back to her former activity.

"It simply did not make sense, Mr. Fitz," she finished calmly. Her heart thrummed loudly in her chest, making her fingers slip.

It was a moment before Mr. Fitz responded. He was so quiet she almost didn't hear him. "Better be without sense than misapply it as you do, Jemma."

Tears prickled the edge of her vision - for no explainable reason whatsoever - and her arrow missed the target entirely, grazing past an oak tree behind it. At the sudden movement, Cosmo dodged out of the way.

Mr. Fitz began heading back towards the house, but not before leaving Jemma with one last comment.

"Try not to kill my dogs."


	3. Chapter 3

Without Mr. Fitz to keep her company – and distressed by their earlier argument – Jemma quickly grew bored with the archery and decided to abandon the activity altogether. Upon entering the house, she noticed Mr. Fitz's hat still sitting atop the coat stand in the entryway and smiled to herself. If he could still bear to remain in her home (albeit to simply tinker away in the laboratory), then perhaps their disagreement hadn't been as severe as she'd thought.

Through their many years of friendship, Jemma and Mr. Fitz had certainly seen their fair share of quarreling. It was simply by the nature of their working partnership that gave way to disagreement after disagreement, which had always suited them just fine. But as Jemma prepared two cups of tea (quite possibly the quickest way to either of their hearts), she couldn't help but feel unsettled by this particular argument.

Jemma did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better judge of such a point of female right and refinement than Mr. Fitz could be. Yet she had a habitual respect for his opinion in general, which was perhaps the reason she disliked having it so loudly against her. These two emotions – satisfaction in preventing an unsuitable marriage for Skye and discomfort from Mr. Fitz's judgment – warred with one another in Jemma's head, making it increasingly difficult to determine the right course of action.

It was all very confusing.

She entered the laboratory as quietly as she could, not wishing to distract Mr. Fitz from his work. Though he kept his back to the doorway and remained hunched over the table, Jemma noted the slight tension in his shoulders when he heard the telltale creak of the door opening. He gave no other acknowledgement of her presence.

Jemma took a deep breath before breaking the silence. "We see so differently on this point, Mr. Fitz," she said softly, taking a hesitant step forward to stand beside him. "There can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only make each other more angry."

Mr. Fitz didn't look at her, nor did he turn his body away from the tools in front of him. But his hands paused in their work as she set one teacup on the table.

"Perhaps you'd like to stop for some tea?"

He glanced at the cup warily, making no move to accept it. Jemma had her pièce de résistance at the ready.

"I've put in three spoonfuls of sugar."

"All right," Mr. Fitz sighed, his previously cheerless expression brightening up a bit. "I suppose a short recess should be fine."

Jemma grinned. "Precisely."

Despite her valiant efforts, teatime was anything but a peaceful occasion. Under normal circumstances, Jemma and Mr. Fitz could coexist in silence quite comfortably; they could chatter for hours on end, of course, but oftentimes they didn't need words to communicate. It was one of the many attributes Jemma valued in her relationship with Mr. Fitz.

On this day, however, the minutes passed in rather unpleasant quiet, with only one attempt on Jemma's side to talk of the weather. Mr. Fitz made no answer as he sipped his tea. He was thinking. It was only when his cup was nearly empty that he made to speak.

"Jemma…" he began, refusing to look her in the eye. Jemma held her breath as she waited for him to continue. "Your views for Skye are best known to yourself, and I've made it quite plain how I feel regarding your influence in the state of affairs. But since you make no secret of your love of match-making –"

Jemma suppressed a groan. "Oh, Mr. Fitz, that is hardly –"

"I have to say that _as your friend_ who knows you very well – almost too well, some might say –"

"The reason why I endeavored to save Skye from –"

"That if Milton is the man –"

"An imprudent marriage!"

"Your labor will be in vain."

Jemma attempted to laugh off his assumptions, but Mr. Fitz had already seen the truth in her expression. "Jemma, say what you will of Skye's heritage, but until a sizeable amount of money is attached to her name, your venture is bound to be hopeless." She shook her head, ready to argue further, but Mr. Fitz wasn't finished. "Milton knows the value of a good income as well as anybody. Mark my word, Jemma. He may talk sentimentally, but in this case he will act rationally."

"I am very much obliged to you," said Jemma, laughing again. "If I had my heart set on Mr. Milton's marrying Skye, it would have been very kind of you to open my eyes. But at present I only wish to keep Skye to myself."

The look Mr. Fitz gave her just then, withering and full of a disdain she'd never seen directed at her before, effectively knocked the wind out of Jemma. Her smile faltered. "Believe me, Mr. Fitz, I'm quite done with match-making."

Mr. Fitz set his cup down with finality. "No more, please, Jemma," he said quietly.

"In fact, I –"

"No more."

And then, faster than Jemma could have anticipated, Mr. Fitz had walked out of the laboratory. Through the glass of the doorway, Jemma saw him swiftly don his hat and throw on his coat, stepping out into the crisp evening air.

Without a backward glance, Mr. Fitz left Redmire.

* * *

Rather than spend her time endeavoring to reconcile with Mr. Fitz (as she well knew she should), Jemma decided instead to prove to him just how wrong he was on the matter. So naturally, she invited Mr. Milton and Skye Johnson to dinner.

The first few gatherings erred on the uncomfortable side, with Skye being unnaturally quiet and Mr. Milton choosing to primarily speak to Jemma. Mr. Fitz still attended most meals at Redmire, although Jemma suspected this was largely for the sake of Mr. Simmons – and perhaps Skye – than for anybody else. The pair remained civil when in the company of others, of course, and even when working together in the laboratory. But tension continued to pervade their conversation and dealings with one another. Simply being around Mr. Fitz, which had once been easy and natural for Jemma, now made her anxious.

She hated every minute of it.

Thankfully, a few weeks were all Mr. Milton and Skye needed to warm up to each other. Or, perhaps more accurately, a few weeks were all Mr. Milton and Skye needed to actually talk to each other, without prompting. Jemma found herself quite pleased with the progress – however small – she'd made, and mused that if things continued in this manner, Skye might have her second proposal by Christmas.

One night after a particularly momentous dinner (Mr. Milton had asked Skye if she liked the cabbage, to which she'd replied, "Yes"), Jemma found a note on the table containing a riddle. She had hardly read a single line before she gasped, and immediately hurried to find Skye in the drawing room.

Skye looked up from her needlework. "What is it?" she asked, eyeing Jemma cautiously.

Jemma flounced down on the sofa next to her. "You'll never believe what Mr. Milton left," she announced brightly as she held out the paper. "Take it. It is for you."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Skye slowly set down her things and took the paper from Jemma. "For me?" she repeated, scanning the page. "I don't understand."

"It's a riddle," Jemma explained patiently. She pointed to the top lines. "A charade, you see? You're meant to solve it, and I believe there may even be a hidden message in your answer."

Skye still seemed baffled. "But the note is not addressed to me. There isn't even a name after Miss."

"Of course not," Jemma laughed. "Being as reserved as he is, I'm surprised Mr. Milton even wrote you at all!"

"Mr. Milton is hardly reserved," said Skye. "He has no trouble speaking with you."

Jemma shook her head. "That's only because he's known me longer than he's known you. Trust me, Skye. The way he was looking at you during dinner tonight can mean only one thing."

Skye seemed less than enthused. "What's that?"

"That this note is for Miss Johnson and Miss Johnson alone," Jemma replied with a grin. At Skye's continuously doubtful expression, Jemma admitted the truth. "The other week whilst at a dinner party, I told a few people that I wanted to make a collection of riddles for you – you know, just something small to make you feel a bit more at home here in Sheffield – when really, this was the contribution I was hoping for. You really must read it."

Mr. Fitz, in the midst of readying to leave, spoke up from near the doorway. "Jemma, you never asked _me_ to contribute a riddle."

"Your entire personality is a riddle, Mr. Fitz," Jemma teased, recovering from her surprise quickly. "I thought you were overqualified."

He smiled in reply, but the warmth he usually held in his eyes was still absent. He continued buttoning up his coat. "Good evening, Jemma," he said, giving her a curt nod before addressing the others in the room. "Sir."

Mr. Simmons briefly glanced at Mr. Fitz over his reading spectacles. "Good evening, Fitz. Try not to get lost on your way home. It's getting dark much too early these days for my liking."

Mr. Fitz laughed. "Will do, sir." He nodded to Skye. "Miss Johnson."

"Good night, Mr. Fitz," Skye smiled, the glow from the fire giving her a halo of light. She seemed genuinely content in the moment, and while Jemma adored the fact that she and Mr. Fitz were friends, she knew it wouldn't be long before Skye would have to leave as well. And there was a riddle to be read – as well as a match to be made.

As soon as the door had closed behind Mr. Fitz, Jemma prompted Skye once more with the paper. "Well?" she asked in excitement. "Do you wish to read the riddle Mr. Milton has devised for you?"

Skye glanced down at her lap, as if she'd forgotten the page altogether. "Oh, right," she murmured, holding up the paper so as to read better with the firelight. She cleared her throat. "To Miss…"

"Johnson," Jemma supplied.

Skye shrugged. "If you say so. To Miss…Johnson. Charade. My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings. Lords of the earth, their luxury and ease…"

"Obviously this is meant to signify –"

"Court," Skye said dismissively, her eyes continuing to scan the page.

Jemma was surprised. "Yes. How did you…?"

Skye gave her a smirk. "I may lack the education you have received, Miss Simmons, but I am not a simpleton."

Jemma felt a burn on her cheeks. "No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply –"

"It's fine, Jemma," Skye assured her. "I've always enjoyed riddles. I suppose with all the mystery that has surrounded me in the past, it gives me a bit of comfort to solve small ones." She seemed embarrassed by her confession. "I don't know. Does that sound silly?"

"Not at all," Jemma replied sincerely. She pointed to the page. "Can you decipher the rest?"

Skye returned her attention to the riddle. "All right, we know the first part is court. Another view of man, my second brings. Behold him there, the monarch of the seas." She pondered the verse for a moment. "Could he mean a shark? Or perhaps a mermaid?"

"What?" Jemma asked, bewildered.

"No, you're right," Skye muttered. "Mr. Milton would never write such a thing. Now, Mr. _Fitz_ , on the other hand –"

"You think Mr. Fitz would write a riddle in which the answer was a mermaid?"

"He talked about mermaids just last week!"

"Really? Mr. Fitz?"

"Yes," Skye insisted. "I had previously lent him my copy of 'The Lady of Gollerus,' simply because the main character's name was Fitzgerald and I happened to be reading it as Mr. Fitz passed by. And after he'd finished the story, he in turn told me of the Spar Cave on Scotland's Isle of Skye and how many have claimed to see mermaids bathing in the pools there."

Jemma scoffed. "Well, you must know that there –"

"They're simply stories, I know," Skye said with a roll of her eyes. "I just thought they were interesting tales, and that Mr. Fitz was very kind to tell me of them. I had no idea there was an entire island that shared my name! Supposedly in Glasgow they organize several boat trips to the isle a year. Mr. Fitz said perhaps I should visit one day."

Jemma struggled to keep her smile in place, although she really didn't understand why the conversation was unsettling to her. "Yes, wouldn't that be nice?" She allowed a small pause before pointing to the paper once more. "But in this case I don't believe the answer is mermaid."

"No, unfortunately," Skye agreed. "Mr. Milton most likely means something much more boring, like ship."

"Boring!" cried Jemma. "Perhaps on its own, sure, but you haven't read the whole riddle yet."

"I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it," Skye laughed, apparently amused by Jemma's exuberance. "But ah! United, what reverse we have. Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown. Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, and woman, lovely woman, reigns alone." Her voice grew quiet as she seemed to realize the implications. "Surely you don't think –"

"Yes, I think you've got it –"

"United the words make 'courtship,' but…but he can't possibly mean to court me!"

Jemma was stunned for a moment, unable to understand how Skye could refuse to see the truth of the matter. "Why do you insist on underestimating yourself, Skye?" she asked incredulously. "Mr. Milton is clearly besotted!"

"That's what I find hard to believe, though," Skye replied. "I've spent time with Mr. Milton, and he's given me very little evidence to support the idea that he regards me as more than an acquaintance."

"Oh, but that's just Mr. Milton's nature," dismissed Jemma. "Believe me, he likes you! It simply takes him a bit of time to express his true feelings. This riddle is just the beginning of what is sure to be a prosperous courtship."

Skye still appeared dubious, but for the first time, Jemma noticed a glint of hope in her eyes. "Do you really think so?"

Jemma grasped onto her hand, beaming. "My dear, I simply _know_ it to be true."

She just wished the skeptical Mr. Fitz hadn't left so soon.


End file.
